Virgin Promise

“I haven’t had a ticket in years.”

“All—” Her voice cracked, and she took a moment to clear her throat. “All right. I appreciate it very much.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” He gave her a long look before he climbed aboard the bike. She hesitated another moment, then took the extra helmet and set it on her head. He had to help her adjust the strap. His knuckles brushed against the ivory smoothness of her cheek, sending ribbons of warmth trickling through his body. Damn, if her cheek did this to him, imagine what her other body parts might accomplish.

No, maybe it was better not to think of that. He had no idea how far this would go, but he didn’t imagine Angela would invite him into her bed no matter how powerful the fantasy. He didn’t believe she was that impulsive.

After donning his own helmet, he extended a hand to her for support. She grabbed it and clambered aboard behind him.

That first touch of her hand to his jolted him to another level of awareness. He’d never been so conscious of the feel of a woman’s hand before, the smoothness, the soft pads of her fingers. She wiggled around, settling in, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was supposed to be the one in control, yet he was the one whose brain was short-circuiting. He imagined how her cute butt looked wiggling on the black leather seat.

She tucked her purse between their bodies, but there was still plenty of contact as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him in a snug, warm embrace.

Vic could have sat there all night, just feeling her soft breasts pressed against his back. He could even smell her, and she smelled like coconut and almonds. As a massage therapist, she probably slathered scented lotions on her hands all day long.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Oh. On Seymour and Huntington, the Huntington Terrace Apartments. Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll find it.” And if he made a wrong turn by accident, well, a few extra minutes of this exquisite torture wouldn’t kill him. Maybe.

With a turn of the ignition key the bike rumbled to life beneath them.

The evening was beautiful, the air warm but still with the crispness of spring. The streets of Angela’s Oak Lawn neighborhood were filled with St. Patrick’s Day revelers, and he was glad she didn’t have to wander around by herself. Normally the eclectic area Dallas called Oak Lawn was pretty safe—he’d once ridden a beat here as a bicycle cop—but muggings and car break-ins weren’t unheard of, especially when so much drinking went on.

The roar of the cycle’s engine precluded talking, but Vic enjoyed the ride immensely. He was disappointed when he found her apartment building with no trouble.

The building was an old one, probably built in the 1930s, a humble, three-story brown-brick structure with an inviting front porch surrounded by mature trees. Small air-conditioning units protruded out many of the windows, so this wasn’t one of those luxurious renovations with sky-high rents. But it looked reasonably well taken care of. The walkway was lined with daffodils, and pots of orange geraniums decorated the front porch.

He pulled into a no-parking zone right in front and cut the engine.

Slowly Angela released her grip around his middle and eased herself away from him. “That wasn’t so bad,” she said, more to herself than to him.

He was a little surprised to hear her say that. Normally he was a very conscientious rider. Working the traffic division, he’d seen firsthand the devastation that could be done to the human body when it flew off a motorcycle at high speeds. But he’d driven a hair faster than normal tonight—nothing unsafe, but enough to get Angela’s adrenaline flowing.

Enough to add to the aura of danger.

She removed her helmet and handed it to him, her hands shaking slightly. “Thanks for everything. I’d have been in quite a mess if you hadn’t come along.” Her voice was a little bit breathless.

“No charge. I’ll see you to your door.”

“That’s not—”

“I know it’s not necessary. What if there’s a mugger waiting in the lobby?” He didn’t wait for her permission, but climbed off the bike, removed his own helmet and followed her up the steps to the porch. Her hand shook as she stuck the key in the front door lock. She pulled open the door a crack, then turned to face him.

“I’m in,” she said. “Thank you. And good night.”

He could see, now, that he’d made her uneasy. He hadn’t meant to. It was this new, dark and dangerous evil twin inside him that had done it by refusing to let her dismiss him. And it was the evil twin who leaned over and stole a kiss.

He didn’t touch her with anything but his lips. She could have backed off at any time, kicked him in the shins, screamed, whatever she wanted. But she just stood there, passively accepting the light pressure of his mouth against her soft, soft lips. Other than a telltale quiver and the flutter of her tentative hand against his chest, she didn’t react.

But he did. That dozing beast inside him opened both eyes wide and snorted to life. He felt the tightness in his groin, the pleasurable curls of desire warming his belly.

Suddenly Angela lost her balance. The door closed behind her, and she fell against it, breaking the kiss.

For a moment all she could do was stare at him, her eyes smoky with desire but wary as hell. Did he blame her?

“Please…” she said.

“Please…what?”

“I can’t ask you inside.”

He ran one forefinger along her jaw. “You could if you wanted,” he whispered, amazed at his own bravado. He was acting like one of those guys in the movies he hated, the ones who were so damn sure of their sex appeal that it never entered their minds that a woman might not be willing. He considered himself confident when it came to the opposite sex, but not pushy.

“I don’t even know you!”

“But you trust me just the same.”

Unwillingly, it seemed, she nodded. On some level she must have sensed that he was one of those serve-and-protect types, not a taker or a defiler of women, despite his cocksureness.

When she made no further move to escape, but just stared at him with an expression he couldn’t read, he finally figured it out. She was his for the taking. She couldn’t ask him in, because she was a nice girl, and nice girls didn’t ask strange men into their apartments. But if he invited himself, she wouldn’t turn him away.

He’d accomplished Bobby Ray’s mission, and it had been surprisingly easy. She was his, at least for this night.

Somehow, that realization didn’t make him feel overjoyed. Yeah, maybe he could sweet-talk his way into her bedroom, and they could spend one awesome night indulging in mindless sex. But that would be the end of it. Instinctively, he knew that.

She deserved better than that. Much as it pained him, he would have to deny himself the pleasures of Angela’s body—for a while, anyway.

He cupped her face between his palms and kissed her again, as if he meant it. This time she was anything but passive. She tilted her head and opened her mouth, eagerly accepting the thrust of his tongue. She put her arms around him, drawing his body closer until they were hip to hip, chest to chest.

He wanted more than anything to remove the barrier of clothing between them, to lie beside Angela and feel her warm, smooth flesh all up and down his own body, to explore every inch of her with his hands and mouth. It took all his willpower to pull away.

She looked up at him, questioning, breathing hard.

He brushed one last kiss on her forehead. “I have to go. Good night, Angela.”

She swallowed. “Good night, then.”

He turned and walked toward his bike without a backward glance, though he ached from his toes to his scalp. Delaying gratification would make it that much better, he told himself, hoping he hadn’t messed this thing up royally. What if, by tomorrow, she’d come to her senses and wanted nothing to do with him?

But as long as he remained her dark and dangerous fantasy man, she would be interested. He was counting on that.

“Hey!” Angela called out, startling him. “You never told me your name!”

He waved goodbye, but he didn’t answer her.

Chapter Two